


Have You Ever Met A Motherfucker Fresh Like Me?

by Illusions_and_reality



Series: Hotdaga Fic, But It's Based On Songs [2]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), The Hotdaga - Fandom
Genre: Garce has moved around a lot, Gen, I think that's it - Freeform, Implied Smeech takes off his shirt to take pictures and sends them to Garce, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internet Friends, also foreshadowed Garce/Smeech, but it's still bad, casual joblet hate sprinkled in there, don't neglect your kids I'll go after you, he's an actual angel though, i love these two so much, mostly neglect, they're both so good, they're neighbours too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 01:25:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17571671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illusions_and_reality/pseuds/Illusions_and_reality
Summary: Garce has moved around his whole life, his only long lasting friends are people he's never met before and he's totally cool with that being his reality. He doesn't like it, but it's bearable. Now, how does Smeech fit into that picture this time, though?





	Have You Ever Met A Motherfucker Fresh Like Me?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NotThatStellar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotThatStellar/gifts).



> I needed to write more of these two.
> 
> Song: Fresh - Artist Vs. Poet
> 
> I didn't follow it exactly, but the title is one of the lyrics, and it fits them in the canonical sense.

Garce scowled as he looked over the new neighbourhood. How many times had he moved in his life? Too many for him to like.

A whole new country this time, it was the worst one yet.

In theory, he could move out, back to the place that they had stayed in the longest, somewhere where he had finally stayed long enough to make a friend.

A friend, something he would have to try and make again, to make this place at least the slightest bit bearable.

Or he could just do what he did last time, stay at home, locked in his room, away from anyone but the people he could call home, actually call home. Ones who he’d never met outside of the internet, but had become one of the biggest comforts in his life.

Whatever he did, he didn’t want to stay outside with the weird dude staring at him from the other house.

 

Garce couldn’t look at his dad, he didn’ want to. He’d been moved around too much by his job, place to place with no way of knowing how long they’d stay, or where they’d be going.

He could’ve chosen any other job, really, and he didn’t.

He’d even gotten the job  _ after  _ Garce had been born, and his mom had… he wasn’t going to think about it. 

But really, any other job, for any other guy.

He was working for fucking E.G.G. The guy who ran it was absolutely insane, too. 

He hadn’t even been able to move out before this one, the fight with his dad had proven it. He’s won and stolen Garce’s laptop and phone from him like he knew that Garce’s only friends existed on there, and nowhere where they had lived before.

Garce had stolen them back before they moved, apologized and explained the situation to his friends, his best friend.

His very best friend, the guy who he really only called “Smeech”, his screen name. It wasn’t like they hadn’t shared real names, Garce just preferred that one.

Smeech had been there since he had been eleven years old, bonded over some dumb game that they couldn’t really remember the details of now, and kept talking.

It had been nice, though. 

Smeech had been the only real stability in Garce’s life for a really, really long time. 

 

Smeech, [2:34 am]:   
_ Are you awake?  _

Me, [2:34 am]:

_ Yeah, I think we’re in the same time now. _

Smeech, [2:34 am]:

_ Ah. _

_ Sleep >:( _

_ Unless you want to send me a pic..? _

Me, [2:35 am]:

_ Isn’t school a thing for you? _

Smeech, [2:35 am]:

_ And here I was, hoping that you would forget about that. _

Me, [2:35 am]:

_ Nope, it’s too late for that _

_ I’ll talk to you in the morning, go to bed _

Smeech, [2:36 am]:

_ Fine. _

_ I love you <3 _

 

Garce smiled at his screen and quickly wrote out a response, so Smeech would see it before he went offline for the night

 

Me, [2:36 am]:

_ I love you too. _

 

One of Garce’s biggest fears had become his dad looking through his things.

Mainly because of Smeech. It wasn’t his fault, no, it was his dad’s. He was… uptight, clingy, and wouldn’t approve of their way of saying goodbye. He was still a good guy! Garce loved him, he really did. Just not in the way he wished he could.

He always had to do things to get attention, to make his voice heard by his dad. It was only when he did things his dad didn’t approve of he got it.

He had wanted to be good enough for a long time, such a long time. And, when trying to be good enough hadn’t worked, he’d tried to be bad, to make his dad mad, get him riled up because at least there was some  _ attention _ that came with it.

Now he had given up, and if he did bad things, his dad stole his stuff and he had to fight for it back. It wasn’t a punishment so much as it was just something that happened.

But the day that Garce’s dad went through his phone as an addition to that would be the day that he would be kicked out and forced to figure out how to get somewhere on his own.

He’d done it before, just not with something as big as his own life.

 

“Garce, my boy. Can you come down here for a moment?” His dad called up the stairs as Garce stood in his room, in front of boxes he didn’t have the energy to unpack right away. He looked toward the open door and stuck his head out to look at the problem. 

The same kid from yesterday, looking up at him with the biggest smile he’d ever seen on someone’s face.

It didn’t look as fake as it should’ve, but who was Garce to say no to his dad? 

Him, really, but he wouldn’t do it in front of someone else.

Garce ran down the stairs and swept his bangs out of his face the best he could, holding back a yawn.

He’d been up a little too late, maybe.

“Hey, uh, what’s up?” He asked, a hand still over his mouth. The kid from yesterday looked a lot more familiar up close.

“This is our neighbour, Sam Meech. He seemed to want to get to see you,”. 

No. Oh God, no. This was the weirdest thing to happen to him in a long time. He didn’t want his friend to meet his dad.

Maybe it wasn’t Smeech, maybe it was just a guy who looked like Smeech… and had the same name.

Yeah, no, it was totally Smeech.

Garce looked between his dad and his friend, then down at himself before stepping out of the house and closing the door behind them.

Smeech wasn’t just a robot, apparently.

 

They’d spent a lot of time just looking at each other, a big smile on Smeech’s face, and a stunned look on Garce’s.

“You- you live here? Exactly here?” Garce asked, trying to keep back the slight crack in his voice. He was thrilled, yes, but he was also stunned.

“I thought you would’ve remembered? You’ve sent me things before?” Smeech tilted his head- no one had the right to look that cute, ever.

“Yes, but- you said you moved?”,

“Only down the street, didn’t I tell you?”

“N-no, you didn’t,”.

Smeech raised his eyebrows, shrugged, and waved as he started to walk away, “Oh well, bye new neighbour.”.

Garce stared for a second or two longer, before running after him, “Wait-” he grabbed at Smeech’s arm, letting out a shaky breath, “You want to come over in a few days?”.

Smeech looked over his shoulder and down at his arm, then looked up at him, “Sure, why not,”.

 

Smeech’s phone buzzed a few minutes later.

 

Garce but sexier, [1:54 pm]:

_ I’ve never seen you wear a shirt before.  _

 

He laughed and typed out a quick response.

 

Me, [1:55pm]

_ ;) _

A faint shout made Smeech look up and through his bedroom window, only to see Garce picking up his phone, a smile big on his face.

 

This would be fun.

**Author's Note:**

> I just... love them so much.
> 
> By the way, I love NotThatSavvy, she's an amazing friend, writer, and an absolute hotdaga fandom legend.


End file.
